


Dreaming

by Fics4you



Series: Fics Advent Calendar 2017 [6]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Reality, Blood, F/M, Fake AH Crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-11 13:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12935838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fics4you/pseuds/Fics4you
Summary: He visits in my dreams.





	1. Chapter 1

 

There’s a man that visits me in my dreams.

I don’t know his name, but I see his story.

Plastered with the blood and blooming bruises, locked in the darkest oceans of his eyes – we do nothing but haunt each other.

We dance through adventures of high emotion and coursing adrenaline, words whispered softly in the world of slumber. Every story unfolds as we race hand in hand; swimming through the expansive seas and climb mountains with curling breath.

Every night he visits, halting the nightmares and holding out a hand. As our fingers intertwine the monsters dwindle into dust.

But not tonight – tonight is different.

It’s dark. Our city broken as sirens yell impatiently, lost in the sound of his laboured breathing. He clutches his arm close, wincing as blood glugs between his fingers.  Huddled behind a car he tries to gather himself, body shaking and pale. Panic shrieks closer, ringing so real that it hurts.

He grinds his teeth, throwing a panicked glance over the hood and grimacing at the sight of police tumbling through the streets.

He’s moving again, feet clomping as he runs. Everything rushes past, the mall abandoned and cracked with graffiti, the pier drowning its sorrows in the water.

I try to keep up, screaming for him. But he can’t hear me, the sound of my voice swallowed by the wind and fear taking over the footpaths.

He doesn’t stop until another bullet embeds in his shoulder.

His knees hit the asphalt, streetlights flickering in their cheers.

He’s in burning agony, lost with nowhere left to turn.

In his pain I have enough time to catch up.

I can’t hear the sounds of my panting, can’t feel the cool air whipping through my hair – and neither can he.

He looks right through me, eyes searching the darkness as he crawls into a nearby alley; shielding from the sirens.

They roar through me as I watch him bleed, feeling nothing as the cars glide through my body.

For a moment static radio fills my ears, sparking words catching my attention as they search.

And then I hear his name between the demands for the Vagabond, and I don’t realise I’m screaming it until he finally finds me.

Across the blood soaked street he stops moving, eyes locking on as though he can’t quite believe it’s all real. Like there’s no way I should exist on this cluttered, broken world.

He shuffles in the alley mouth, uncertain.

I feel myself moving, cars continuing to course through me with more snippets of static.

_Kill on sight._

I hold out a hand to the wide eyes buried in smudged charcoal paint, his name dripping down my front.

_“Ryan.”_

He’s running again, grunting to standing and racing towards me, hesitating by the gutters.

I step back, beckoning him to follow with my hand still outstretched. Another step; and then another.

It takes him a moment, but eventually I hear his groans of pain drawing closer.

I whisper through the streets with leisure, ghosting through the darkness with him in tow. Past the apartment buildings and through the trees until the house glows dim in the nothingness.

Up the familiar steps, his mind growing panicked as he rushes ahead and towards the quaint door.

His fingers numbly work the lock, tumblers clicking as I turn my back to him, smiling at the sky.

Then yelling comes, cutting through the peace with the bullet.

It tears though my throat, blood spewing down my front as I watch it soil my nightshirt.

And I’m falling, bullet no longer able to hurt him because it’s too busy hurting me.

He wants to run back to me, but I’ve already disappeared into the ground.

Nothing left but the open door calling his name.

I wake with a jolting gasp, rocketing in bed and clutching my throat.

 

There’s a man that visits me in my dreams. I know his name, but I don’t know his story.

 

All I know is that he’s stood in my bedroom now that I’m awake, stuffing clothing into a bag and telling me we have to go.


	2. Dreaming pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was so overwhelmed with calls for a part two of Dreaming, so buckle in folks - you wanted it to get weird.

I’m not sure I want to be a part of his story, not anymore.

 

I don’t want to hear the whispering worries tracing the contours of his body as blood soaks his shirt, don’t want to listen to the panic throbbing in my chest with the fear spun like the silk of his hair.

 

But I hear them because they’re screaming.

 

The carpet pushes between my toes before I realise that I’m moving. Clothing fibres catching on the stubble coating my legs while I pull on trackies, catching the wadded up shirt he tosses.

 

It’s riddled with holes, his fingers leaving bloody impressions on the collar.

 

I don’t complain, too busy careering into the bathroom and gathering the blade buried under the sink; tucking it into my pocket as the hair tie around my wrist snaps over my mess of hair.

Then my eyes fall on my throat as it stings with a flash, flesh now littered with scars resembling wounds, deep red blemishes hugging the curves carved by the bullet.

That shouldn’t have happened; it’s never happened before. But then again, I’ve never brought home the person whose dreams I plague. It’s a good night for firsts; the first time I’ve unintentionally visited a world so awake while I’m lost in sleep, the first time I’ve struggled to differentiate reality from the haunting of my mind.

 

The first time I’ve saved a man from a death he rightfully deserves.

 

They’re outside, yelling like sirens and barking orders at insubordinates. Voices charging my front door in time with their shoulders, house shaking with each attempt. The glass panes shake, rattling in fear as the wallpaper dulls the sound.

I don’t have time to break, but the bedroom window does. It shatters in glitter as I hurl a weighted candle through, the darkness alight with the fractured moon bouncing off the shards.

And then we’re moving again, a rush of air greeting our cheeks while we launch through, his hand taking mine as we plummet.

I barely hear him talking and instructing me to roll – I’m too busy drawing in a deep, resounding breath.

 

My feet hit the ground with a ripple long before his, grass shaking as the shockwaves whisper across the earth.

 

As I stand the world slows, bullets drifting lazily through the air and the voices of officers echoing like they’re trapped in water. The breeze stops as I watch the scene unfold, breath trapped in my lungs and barred behind ground teeth.

 

He’s still falling, eyes growing wide as I pluck the bullets ready to tear through his throat from the air. One after another.

 

As his knees come to brace I hurl the ammunition back at the men firing with all my might, body burning and begging for air as they cling in the open space, ready for my gasp.

I ignore his questions once my hand lands on his, breaking his stunted pace and bringing him into existence as the world continues to lazily spin.

 

I can’t risk another breath, not yet.

 

We’re running and I feel him resist, wanting to pull away from what he doesn’t understand. But he doesn’t.

He grips tighter and takes over as I stumble, deprived of life until I’m in his arms on the street.

 

And then I take a breath.

 

The world speeds up, sirens breaking through the water logging them down, confusion overwhelming the cries of officers sliced with their own bullets.

I dethatch from him, pressing my bare feet into the asphalt as the rain dwindles into nothing, lungs thankful for air. He doesn’t move as I keep walking, regaining my balance as the cold seeps in and his attackers continue chasing daydreams.

 

“C’mon Ryan, the Fakes are looking for you.”


	3. pt 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conclusion, or a world opening for opportunity?

“What’s going on?”

“I could as you the same thing; you’re the one who was stood in my bedroom.”

 

The cops are a distant memory, sirens having faded as the night clawed back its claim of the streets. Nothing lights our way but the stars, glimmering pinpricks in the blanket of darkness tossed over the Earth.

The man beside me shakes his head in disbelief, as though he can’t quite grasp why I’d be asking him anything. He stumbles at my side, accepting the shoulder I offer as his tries to give in.

 

“Why are they chasing you?”

He doesn’t answer my question, instead posing his own.

 

“Am I dead?” The sincerity in his eyes shifts, molten blue churning in the dim, dusted light. “Or am I just dreaming?”

“Do you want to be?”

“...No.”

“Then you have your answer.”

 

I shrug with his weight, wound weeping into my neck, sticky and loaded with copper. He grunts, sinking against the closest wall and resting in the cigarette butts, breeze worrying through his hair.

“We don’t have time to stop, Ryan.”

“Then make time,” he huffs, head resting and hair catching in the bricks. I frown, feeling his defeat lap beneath my bare, bloodied feet.

“They’re not much further,” I insist gently, taking his hand and trying to yank him from stubbornness – but its hold is too strong. “Another block, if that.”

“Oh?” His eyebrow quirks, tone mocking as girlish glee caresses the theatrical surprise. I feel my lips set as his scowl, a darkness I’ve never known clouding his crystal eyes. “And how would you know that?”

 

“Michael’s asleep.”

 

He doesn’t move; rooted in the filth he resides. I refuse to argue as the rain picks back up, a storm vibrating in anticipation; ready to release hell.

Bruises shape the balls of my feet as I drift back into the open street, toes throbbing in the cold. As the streetlights flicker I close my eyes, stretching out in search of something to hold. Nothing comes at first, until the sweet smell of pine and choking smoke draws me through the darkness.

 

Flames roar and lick my skin, what should bring blisters so soft they could be mistaken for sheets. The street beneath my feet grows warm, ash filling my lungs and dancing in swirls when I open my eyes.

He’s staring back, confusion plastered beneath the charcoal smudging his face.

I take a step forward, fire billowing placidly around my calves until I’m stood before him with a reassuring smile.

 

_‘46 th street.’_

 

He responds by reaching out a hand that passes through me, body running cold as Michael's fingers cut through my neck. I’m undeterred, flickering through existence as the sound of yelling forces through his slumber – a female voice growing frantic.

 

_‘46 th street.’_

 

He opens his mouth to speak, but the woman’s voice comes through again, panic dripping from his lips. Another voice joins in, though still not his own. Calls for the woman to calm down.

 

‘We’ll find him.’

‘It’s been hours, Geoff.’

 

I take the man with muted curls by the hand, nails biting his palms until blood flows. He stares until jerking, body flickering as the pain courses through and forces him to leave his dreams behind.

 

I open my eyes, my hand slick with the life of the fire man as it pours from my grip and into the gutters with the rain.

It doesn’t take long for Michael to pass the message on, so quickly that I barely have time to return to the body slumping in the alley.

 

I kneel beside him as the scream of tires change direction, his friends racing with nothing but a vain hope that he's still alive. Resting my palm against his cheek, I smile into his confusion, features softened as the adrenaline dissipates into the asphalt.

 

“They’re coming.”

“What about you?”

 

I smile, standing as his fingers clumsily snatch the space I once occupied. “Don’t worry about me.”

 

I’m fazing across the street before he can respond, toes barely touching the grassy banks before a car comes screeching around the bend, bodies clambering out and filling the alley I’ve left.

Their relief washes over as I watch, his body balanced between tattoos and blinding red hair, feet dragging as he’s lead back to safety.

His eyes catch mine, suddenly pleading as he stumbles, the word _‘wait’_ thrown to the floor.

I shake my head sadly as he’s loaded into the back seat, the redhead clambering in after him and muttering about medical supplies.

 

The fire man doesn’t make nearly as much fuss when noticing my presence, alien without the roaring flames. Still, he stops, looking as though he wants to speak.

 

Instead, he nods before joining his family as they take off into the nothingness.

 


End file.
